


String Me Together

by kickfoxing



Category: American Vandal (TV)
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, kind of an emotional breakdown but like it is expected., this is my first work in the fandom so i hope you enjoy!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 15:40:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17368688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kickfoxing/pseuds/kickfoxing
Summary: Peter had been through a lot during the filming of the second season of American Vandal. He tried his best to be impartial to all his subjects, but his teenage brain and big heart had a difficult time separating the two. When things get too difficult and Peter has trouble handling the lies and deceit, he's on the edge of falling apart. But Sam holds him together.(He always does)Based on the 5 word prompt "Why do I even bother" as suggested on tumblr.





	String Me Together

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr [@eldanado](eldanado.tumblr.com) and send me more prompts!

Peter had had the longest day in the history of long days. Sure, he spent a vast majority of his time researching, filming, editing, and mostly not sleeping, but this day really took the title. Back when American Vandal was just him and Sam with some backwater dream of creating something impactful, Peter never dreamed he would have days like this. The easy camaraderie he had with Dylan had lead to an eventual friendship, despite his best efforts to stay impartial.

 

When Peter had found out about Dylan vandalizing Shapiro’s _after_ he had worked so hard to help him be freed, he felt betrayed. But nothing compared to Kevin McClain.

 

Peter had gotten barely any sleep the past couple of nights, catching a catnap here and there in between filming interviews with the 4 catfished and editing. Finding out that Drew had in fact, not done the brownout, was like the pin being pulled out of a grenade. Peter had an inkling of who it could have been, but until the trial, he hadn’t been confident.

 

After the trial, however, the long awaited grenade finally blasted Peter off his feet and into the sky. He had come here to prove Kevin’s innocence. He had come here to find the truth. His bias just wasn’t what he had expected it to be.

 

So they did the final interview with Kevin and all Peter wanted to do was to understand. Why didn’t Kevin go to the police? Why did he lie to _us_ the whole time? Why did he have to be so stubborn?

 

“Because I wasn’t blackmailed.”

 

The grenade had long ago exploded, but now Peter was making his was back down to Earth, hitting solid pavement with a splat.

 

This was nothing like Dylan and his idiotic crime. This was real and truthful manipulation. It took every ounce of determination left in Peter’s body to keep his professional resolve with Kevin. He tried, he really did, to be an impartial documentarian. Curse him and his big heart. His fatal flaw would, apparently, always come back to bite him in the end.

 

But thank god for Sam. Sam who just jumped in and added an air of lightness back to the interview. With a handful of sentences, he managed to pick Peter up off the pavement and return him to some semblance of normalcy.

 

“Can I just ask you one more question?”

 

Peter wasn’t even sure at that point what Sam was going to ask. The list they had prepped with was completely gone, some talking points most likely not making the final cut of the documentary. Peter held his breath as Sam continued, taking Kevin’s silence as a go ahead.

 

“Well, I- if you did the brownout, doesn’t that mean that... y-you shit your pants on purpose?”

 

Peter’s heart soars for a moment as he watched his best friend in the world ask probably the most embarrassing question Kevin could answer.

 

“Yeah.”

 

And just like that, Peter was back to normal, or, as normal as one can be when being an impartial documentarian who was 3 seconds away from either punching something or bursting into tears. Peter pulled himself together just enough to get the equipment packed up and drive back to the guest house. They would be leaving soon, he knew, but now that every piece of the Turd Burglar mystery was finally settled, all he wanted to do was stop existing for a while.

 

When they arrived back at the house, both Peter and Sam flopped onto the large and plush couch, not even bothering to unpack their equipment from the car. They ended up a lot closer than usual, sprawled out in opposite direction with their heads laying side by side. Over their time on this doc, the two had become inexplicably closer. Living and sharing space, no matter how big the guest house actually was, forced them into a sort of intimacy neither was adverse to, just something new.

 

“It’s like post-show depression, y’know?” Sam cut into the silence, filling it with a warmth Peter didn’t know he had been missing. Sam usually filled the car with useless chatter when there was nothing better to do and the silent car ride on the way there just proved to Peter how heavy their day had been.

 

“What?” Peter finally asked, urging Sam to do more talking so he wouldn’t have to. He felt like at any moment he spoke, his voice could shatter and let out a waterfall of emotion that would most likely appear in the form of tears.

 

“Like, when a theatre production is finally over and you have so much free time you don’t know how to handle it. Your free time isn’t spent trying to remember blocking or your lines or your entrances and stuff, it’s just....empty.” Peter could feel Sam nervously shifting on the couch. Sam was quietly twirling his hoodie string around his finger, causing subtle vibrations to be sent to Peter.

 

Peter hummed, urging Sam to continue without being able to find the words. But Sam would get it. (Sam always got it.)

 

“Like, even though it’s usually a shitshow, when you’re done it’s hard not to think about it or think about the people you worked so closely with. And no two shows are the same so you’ll never truly get that back. And after there’s just... this hollow void filling your chest. A nostalgia for something you never thought you’d miss.”

 

Peter closed his eyes as Sam spoke. He could feel the tears welling up at the corner of his eyes so he moved to take his glasses off and set them to the side, quickly wiping away any evidence of his emotions.

 

He hummed in agreement as Sam reached the end of his point and stopped talking before adding in, “I can’t believe you just used the term shitshow in relation to something that wasn’t this documentary.” He laughed a little, despite the tightness in his chest seizing up.

 

“Hey, season 1 was actually a lot more of a shitshow if you think about it. We have all the Netflix gear and resources now so it’s bound to count for something.”

 

Peter huffed another laugh as he turned his head to face Sam. Without his glasses, the blurriness of the rest of the room drew his gaze to one specific point. He was on the inside of the couch so as he turned, his eyes locked onto Sam’s as he put on a sad smile.

 

“Pete,” Sam said softly, bringing his hand to tangle his fingers in Peter’s hair. The tears were flowing more freely now for Peter as he sniffled and tilted his head into Sam’s hand.

 

“Petey,” Sam said even softer, something Peter hadn’t thought possible. “Talk to me.”

 

It took Peter a moment to gather his thoughts, to string together his incoherent feelings into words. String was always Sam’s thing, so it was no surprise it was his kind words, loving gaze, and gentle hands that helped Peter find his footing.

 

“So,” Peter began, taking a shuddering breath before he continued, “obviously my career as an impartial documentarian didn’t work out.” He let out a wet laugh. Sam just gave him a moment and used his thumb to quickly wipe away Peter’s tears.

 

“Like- with Dylan, we were right. He didn’t do the dicks and we proved that. And sure he was an idiot and got arrested anyway, but he didn’t lie to us. In fact, he was probably the most truthful out of everyone we interviewed about the dicks.”

 

“So you’ve said before.” Sam was so clearly trying his best not to interrupt Peter, to let him get out what he needed to. (Peter noticed him biting his tongue as soon as the simple sentence spilled out.)

 

Typically, Sam filled up all the space surrounding Peter. He used noises, jokes, random facts, discussions, and so much more to fill Peter’s days with brightness and friendship. So Peter was grateful for the interruption, he didn’t want Sam holding back- that wasn’t how _they_ worked.

 

“And it still hurt. It was... frustrating to see all our work for him just get washed down the drain. But with Kevin-“ Peter cut himself off with a huff through his nose, “He didn’t even try.”

 

Peter scrubbed at his face, pinching his nose down the bridge before Sam grabbed his hand and linked their fingers together. He squeezed Sam’s hand, offering him a look of thanks.

 

“Kevin _lied_ to us. And even then I... I still thought there could be something truthful. I still believed the best in him and _assumed_ he had been blackmailed like the others. Like, Greyson was once his friend so he just didn’t follow through during the dump- or- or he just never sent Brooke any of those pictures.”

 

“You tried so hard Pete, you gave him every chance-”

 

“And look how it turned out!” Peter sat up quickly, linked hand pulling Sam up along with him. He buried his head in his hand and squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the white noise to take over and help him escape from this moment. Sam slipped out of his grasp and slung an arm over his shoulder, quickly stroking Peter’s arm.

 

“Why do I even bother,” Peter let out in a frustrated whisper.

 

“Peter,” Sam started, pausing his movements, “You can’t honestly mean that?”

 

“I mean,” Peter swallowed, “Yeah... a part of me does.” His hands had made their way into his hair. He tugged from the roots up letting out a frustrated sigh.

 

He hadn’t felt Sam move, but obviously he hadn’t been paying much attention to what wasn’t inside his head. His face came into view as he gently pulled Peter’s hands from his head.

 

“Hey.”

 

Peter’s gaze met Sam’s once again before looking back at his feet. He was sure he looked a mess, the crying and hair pulling probably left behind one extremely frazzled Peter.

 

“Listen, dude, I don’t want to invalidate your feelings or whatever, but that’s bullshit.”

 

Peter laughed. A sort of wet sob escaped his throat as he breathed in.

 

“Like, yeah it sucks that Kevin lied to you and it sucked that Dylan was a dumbass, but look at who you did help.”

 

“Like Demarcus and Jenna and Drew?” Peter asked bitterly. “Because it doesn’t really seem like I helped any of them at all.”

 

“Yeah it sucks that all their shit got leaked,” Sam said, moving a hand to tilt Peter’s head up again. His thumb trailed softly from under Peter’s chin across his cheek. “But, you can’t put that all on you. Did you hit the button that posted them? Or attempt to blackmail tons of people at once?”

 

Peter remained silent for a moment, leaning ever so slightly into Sam’s hand.

 

“It wasn’t a rhetorical question, Pete.”

 

“No.”

 

“And maybe we made things more public, but Greyson was already a crazy blackmailer. You could never have predicted what he was going to do because I honestly believe he didn’t even know what he was going to do himself.”

 

Peter nodded in agreement, biting the inside of his cheek. As much as he wanted Sam’s reassuring words to push away his worry, anxiety was a bitch of a mistress whispering _sweetly_ in his ear. Just because things weren’t as bad as they could have been didn’t mean Peter didn’t feel like he lost.

 

“Peter, I need you to know that trusting Kevin wasn’t a bad decision. Having Kevin as an ally meant-

 

“But it wasn’t a decision! I never decided ‘okay, yeah, I’m going to trust this guy’ I just did. And- and of course I passively thought he could be lying, but it was never at the forefront of my mind. I let my bias cloud my judgement and now I feel like shit and I’m the only one to blame for that fact.” After his rambling was over, he slumped forward, forehead resting on Sam’s shoulder. Sam’s arms wrapped around him, enveloping him into a hug he didn’t even know he had been craving.

 

There was a lot of small things Peter did without thinking, especially when it came to Sam. Like clasping hands together after a particularly good high-five, heat lingering between their touching palms. Or messing with Sam’s hair before helping him fix. Or throwing a casual arm over his shoulder while leaning maybe too far into Sam’s space. Once he took stock of how often their casual platonic intimacy skewed his feelings, Peter knew he was in too deep. When you start craving the gentle touch of your best friend’s hand on your shoulders, it’s time to have a serious discussion with himself.

 

“If you didn’t have such a big heart you never would have finished season 1. Like, can you imagine trying to film Dylan everyday when you _didn’t_ like him?” Peter huffed a laugh, a very common occurrence when Sam was talking, even during a serious discussion.

 

“Just- just _try_ to imagine doing the doc but with Shapiro’s feelings about Dylan rattling in your head. And, do you remember the first time we talked about the idea of American Vandal, what you said about Dylan.”

 

“I said he was a dumbass-”

 

“Yeah, but you also said he wasn’t malicious. That he just looked lonely.”

 

“Yeah, but he had the wayback boys and Mack, so it wasn’t like he _needed_ us to be his friends.”

 

“True, but he needed us to tell his story. And that’s what you did, Pete, you told his story. And it wouldn’t have been possible without your big heart and even bigger brain.” As he finished, he pressed a kiss to Peter’s head, spreading a warmth through Peter’s entire body. Peter finally caved and joined Sam on the floor, wrapping his arms around Sam in one quick movement.

 

“The people we’ve helped, Pete, that makes the pain all worth it. We came here because these kids were being terrorized by an unknown shitmonster, literally. We came here because we had to do something for these kids since the police so clearly weren’t going to do more than just blame Kevin. And look how far we’ve come.”

 

Peter picked his head up and drew himself back, just enough to meet Sam’s gaze straight on. “I would say we’ve made it pretty far.”

 

Two years ago, Peter had been convinced Sam had a crush on Gabbi. Two years ago, they were running around making a documentary about their hometown with reckless abandon, never settling and uncovering the truth. Two years ago, Peter wouldn’t have even dared to dream about the closeness he and Sam shared. But two years is an extremely long time to be in love with your best friend without acting on it.

 

“Or, you could say we’ve made it pretty _close_ ,” Sam joked, bumping his forehead into Peter’s.

 

“That was bad.”

 

He shrugged, “I’ve done worse. Like the time that we were at editing our final cut of season 1 an-”

 

Peter cut him off in a way he’d always imagined he one day could. Typically, he would talk over Sam, or slap a hand over his mouth. And even on some memorable occasions, tackle him to the ground, turing the movement into a distracted wrestling match. But this way- this full stop of breathing and sound was something Peter had only dreamed of when he let his mind wander under the cover of darkness.

 

Peter had spent a long time studying people- as a documentarian he’d made a profession of it. And sometimes he was short sighted when it came to people he cared about. Dylan. Chloe (and by extension Kevin). Sam.

 

He wasn’t sure how Sam would react. How much of his prediction of Sam’s reaction was biased, based on his own feelings? Would it just be wishful thinking to hope Sam would reciprocate?

 

If Peter were to take off his _Sam Blinder_ for a moment and compile evidence, an insurmountable pile of facts and observations would surely appear. It would start with the looks that Sam gives him when he isn’t looking and end with the softness Sam approached him with (like kissing him softly on the head only moments ago).

 

Things Peter would put on his conjecture (but not definite) evidence list would include:

  * 40 hours of profile shots Sam has gotten of him over their time on the docs
  * Sam knowing his coffee order, down to the small drip of caramel he always got
  * The standing movie date they’ve had every weekend for years



 

If he could make a short expose on how Sam felt ( _supposedly_ felt) about Gabbi, he could do the whole next season of American Vandal about how he had stolen Sam’s heart, just as Sam had stolen his.

 

Sam met him with the same fervor he met a subject during an interview: unrelenting and persistent. Sam’s lips were soft as Peter melded them together with his own. There was a moment- one terrifying never ending moment- where Peter thought Sam would push him away. The moment he made contact with Sam, anxiety crawled at his throat, urging him to pull back, flee, and ignore the fact that this moment ever happened.

 

But then Sam met him head on, just as he did with everything. He slid a hand from Peter’s shoulder, to the back of his neck, pulling him further down. It was a little awkward, since Peter’s face was slightly wet from the crying, and the cramped position on the floor didn’t help, but Peter thought it was perfect- perfectly them. He sat there for a moment, unsure of what to do with himself. Then, Sam moved.

 

It was always Sam. Sam who moved when Peter was stuck in a rut. Sam who blurted out over Peter’s carefully crafted plans. Sam who moved along the case with a simple “Mr. Fernandez, did you eat shit?” blowing wide an assortment of emotions Peter would have never accessed in the man with his rambling questions. So of course, it was Sam.

 

His head tilted slightly, meeting Peter at a different angle. Although his eyes were closed, Peter felt like his worldview had just been blown wide. He hummed into Sam’s mouth as his hands finally figured out what they wanted to do- grab at Sam’s back and pull him closer. And then they were moving in harmony, sweetly drawing lips against lips and lightly drawing hands over each other.

 

Peter wanted this moment to last forever, but even Sam’s sweet lips couldn’t silence his runaway brain. A laugh bubbled up from his throat finding his way between his lips. The kiss wasn’t yet ruined, however, and Sam squeezed the back of Peter’s neck trying the reign him in. But the smile that quickly bled onto Peter’s face forced him to pull back.

 

Sam’s soft smile but confused expression just caused Peter to laugh more.

 

“Sor- Sorry. Just... did you _seriously_ ask Kevin if he shit his pants on purpose?”

 

“Really, Pete? You want to interrupt... wh- _this_ to talk about the interview?”

 

“Yeah, yeah you’re right, I just- I still can’t believe you said that! Like when you asked Fernandez if-” Sam brought his face close into Peter’s sliding his nose against Peter’s. Their mouths were again, only centimeters apart.

 

“Okay, yeah- shutting up now.” Sam just laughed and closed the distance once more.

 

\---

 

Later on, they were back interviewing Kevin again for the ending shots. They would still have to finish up with some footage from the Horsehead Collective to wrap up, but this was the last time they would be in the same room as Kevin for filming.

 

It was a lot less tense than the last time he was in Kevin’s home. He wasn’t trying to solve the case any longer, he was just simply reporting on where Kevin was now. As they made their way out, gear already packed in the car, Sam stopped Peter with a hand on his shoulder.

 

“You good, dude?” The way he filled such a common friendly endearment with such affection made Peter’s heart skip a beat. Sure, they had been calling each other ‘dude’ for years, but it hadn’t been accompanied by the soft gaze and gentle hand.

 

“Yeah, I’m- y’know, I’m good.”

 

“Because last time we talked with Kevin-”

 

“I was a mess, yeah, I get it.” Peter rolled his eyes and ducked his head. Sam’s hand slid from his shoulder into his own, linking their fingers together.

 

“I was going to say we each had a lot of emotions running high. And- like- I’m not complaining about the outcome of those events but I don’t want to see you in pain again, dude, because like-”

 

“Babe,” Peter interjected, pulling out the big guns which always left Sam speechless and a little bit of a mess, “I’m okay.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yes.”

 

They headed to the car, hands still linked together, a smile drawing on Peter’s face.

 

“I’m happy we finally got closure this time, y’know? With the dicks it was just...” he trailed off with a sigh.

 

“It was a just a real pain in the _dick_ , not figuring out who did them, wasn’t it?” Sam was clearly trying to suppress a grin and failing spectacularly. The edges of his lips kept turning up then flattening out, like some sort of weird mating dance. Peter gave him a flat look with no verbal reply.

 

“C’mon,” Sam’s eyes crinkled in the way that always made Peter’s heart melt, “you love it.”

 

“Yeah, yeah.”

 

“Love you,” Sam said bumping his shoulder into Peter’s.

 

There was a lot of uncertainty in Peter’s life at the moment. He still wasn’t exactly sure where he and Sam would end up for college. He wasn’t sure the edits on episode 3 that the Netflix editor had suggested were  on brand with how he wanted the episode to go. He wasn’t sure what he and Sam would be eating tonight for dinner on their way back to Oceanside.

 

But he was sure of this. Sure that Sam had strung him together, collecting pieces that had floated off during the chaotic storm that was filming. Sure of the weight of Sam’s hand in his and their shoulders pressed together. Sure that whatever came next, he and Sam were ready for the challenge.

 

This was his best friend, who had watched Peter go through some shit, figuratively _and_ literally, and still chose to love him.

 

“Love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! hope you enjoyed reading as much as i did writing :)


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